Fifteen Minutes
by something someone said
Summary: In which Kevin forcibly removes Dantalion from a bar.


I don't own Makai Ouji.

* * *

Every bar clock in the world is set fifteen minutes ahead of time. Fifteen less minutes to order that last drink, fifteen less minutes to chug it all down and feel the world wash away in a sweet stupor. Fifteen less minutes to say goodbye.

Just one more drink, Dantalion tells himself. Human alcohol is weak, but that's just another excuse to drink more of it. Just another excuse to stay behind this counter, staring at a clock that ticks hopelessly by.

That's when the butler walks in.

"Come to tie me up again, huh angel?" Dantalion slurs. The stool barely holds him, he's so close to slipping off into the oblivion of the tiled floor (and what hideous tile it is too, vomit greens and oranges that no citrus would want to be).

"You shouldn't be here," the butler looks at him sternly. "Think of the school's reputation if you're caught drinking here. At least take off your uniform. It's been years since you left."

Dantalion chuckles. "Reputation, huh?" Everything seems much funnier now, the world a hazy mess of dreadful colors. "Well, that shouldn't be too much of a problem for you. You can just change their memories anyway, can't you, you sneaky bastard?"

Kevin frowns. It's an expression that almost satisfies Dantalion. He wants to see that face livid with anger and repulsion. He wants to see the angel of presence shoot him hateful glares and call him scum.

But Kevin tilts his head softly toward the floor. "You know he doesn't have much time left. You should see him."

Dantalion empties a shot glass of something and slams his palm on the bar to have it refilled.

"See him? And then what? You'll drag him to Heaven after his last wish is fulfilled, won't you? You scheming angel, don't look at me like you wouldn't."

The shot glass is refilled. He holds it close under his nose, the alcohol makes his eyes water slightly. Kevin lifts his head up. That's the face he wants to see. Desperation, hate, loneliness, it's all there. This angel would make an excellent demon. He should do him a favor and tear that other wing off.

"I know why you're here," Kevin says, the frown still firmly implanted on his face. "You're avoiding him. You are angry because he rejected you to the very end. But don't let that anger control you. He wants to see you. I _know_ you want to see him."

The demon shakes his head. "That's where you're wrong, angel. He didn't reject me. At least not _all_ of my requests." He smirks.

"What do you mean?" Kevin's eyes narrow.

"Do you really want to know?" Dantalion holds the drink above him and empties it. The alcohol pours down his throat, a demon offering up his own libations. He wipes his mouth and sets the glass back on the bar with a forceful clink. Then he turns to the butler, eyes still burning from the concoction. "Your young master isn't so innocent after all." His mouth is hot, his words infused with heat.

He feels the tug on his collar before he can see the other's hands. He's lifted from his seat. "Take that back," Kevin bites between his teeth.

"Are you afraid?," Dantalion scoffs. He grabs the butler's wrist. He could snap it. "I could have easily defiled his soul, you know. He'd be no good for Heaven."

He feels Kevin's hands shake, sees him seethe, purple irises swirling in a maelstrom. "Or maybe you're jealous? Your precious young master never even touched you, did he?"

The tugging at his collar disappears. The world around him flashes and when his eyes adjust he's in a world of gray outside of time. In front of him stands the angel Uriel, one wing flared out sharply, pure white against the charcoal gloom.

Dantalion smiles. He aches for something to burn, something to fling his pain at.

"You want to take me on, angel?" He feels flames wrap against his arm, a cobra with a hood of fire.

"I would," the angel replies. The frown hasn't left his face. "I'd turn you to ash and erase your unhappy existence in an instant. I'd make the young master forget all about you. I pray to God that I could spare him that agony."

He feels Uriel's rage pulse around him. Through him. He can almost hear them, the screams of Uriel's victims. Those souls dragged from their beds and into Heaven unwillingly. Dantalion readies himself. He could take this angel on. Nevermind the stumbling as he tries to adjust his sense of balance. He could take this angel on and make sure all of Heaven and Hell knew just who they were dealing with.

The flames entangle themselves around his arm. He aims, but Uriel does nothing. Only looks at him. With sad eyes. "I could," he says. "But I can't. He needs you. You're the only one who can make him understand." There is no anger now, no screams. Uriel pleads. That is all.

The fires die down. Dantalion returns to the bar stool.

"Return this world to normal," he says. "I want another drink."

The gray blinks out and the noise of the bar smacks against Dantalion's ears again. The butler stands before him, wingless, tired.

He turns to the bar, asks for another drink, something a little stronger this time. And one for his friend, too.

He pats the seat next to him.

"I don't drink," the butler says, but joins him regardless.

Before long, two glasses are place in front of him.

"The alliances that we made because of William are falling apart," Dantalion sighs. He stares into his glass, the honey colored liquid staring back at him, inviting him to drown out the sorrows with mind-numbing sweetness. "William's been the lynchpin that's held the factions in check. This whole time we've been waiting for his vote… but once he's gone there'll be no reason to wait any more. The factions will fight for dominance." Dantalion downs the liquid. It burns as it goes down, an aching succor. "We're at the brink of civil war."

Even with the alcohol pulsing through his system, Dantalion still can still see it painfully clear. Lamia (he can't call her Lady despite her rank, even now) forcing him to fight. The other three won't have a choice either. They all fight, with their armies or just the three of them. They'll fight until there's only one left. Or none. "Camio, Sitri and I… we'll probably end up killing each other," he says bitterly.

Kevin stays silent.

He knows he shouldn't be telling the angel this. That the last thing Hell needs is to be invaded by Heaven right now. But he can't help but heap his anxiety on another.

"Thank you," Dantalion says, catches himself saying. "Thank you for protecting him." At least William won't witness that.

Kevin looks at him. "We should go soon." He shakes his head. "Now."

They arrive at the house in the country, the furniture restored, or at least replaced, after so many years. He walks down the familiar hallways, rushes of nostalgia enveloping him like the warm, intoxicating feeling in his gut.

Camio and Sitri are there when he opens the door. They stare at him but don't say a word.

"You idiot. What took you so long?" A wrinkled hand lifts a tea cup to parsed, dry lips. Some drops of honey brown tea spill onto the bed cover and Sitri goes in to assist that shaking, wrinkled hand.

"I…," Dantalion starts, but doesn't finish.

"Oh, it doesn't matter. Come to lecture me like the others, huh?"

That's when the butler bursts in. "If you don't believe in God, you can't go to Heaven, young master. Your soul will wander Purgatory."

"He's right," Dantalion nods. "Just convert already. They do that sort of thing, even if you're on your…" he bites his lip, "your deathbed."

The hair may be gray, the skin may be pallid, but the green eyes are still bitingly sharp.

"I don't know if you're aware of this, but death has been something that's interested me for quite some time now."

Camio and Sitri stare, Kevin lets out something between a moan and a sigh.

Dantalion cocks an eyebrow, "What?"

"I've got a few theories about it. I won't bore you all with them right now, but I'm happy to die if means I can continue on with my research."

"You can't be serious."

It is delivered, deadpan, from half-lidded green eyes. "You could say I'm dead serious."

"As expected of the young master!" There are stars in the butler's eyes as he wraps a blanket around his master.

Camio stares speechless. Sitri looks as if he'll spit out the tea he's purloined from William's hands.

But Dantalion just stands there in awe.

"Now get out."

"I thought you wanted to see me," Dantalion, his mouth still hanging in shock.

"I did. But you took too long and my nurse tells me my bedtime is strictly nine o' clock."

Just as he says it a clock chimes from the hallway. A matronly woman rushes into the room and shoos them all away.

"Goodnight, William," Dantalion waves from the doorway. "See you in the morning."

Aged eyelids close over the green eyed boy he used to know. "Let's hope so."

The door is shut.

He joins the others in the hallway. They say their greetings, catch up, laugh a little, sigh a lot. They try to stall the inevitable with conversation. When did they become something less than rivals and more than friends, Dantalion wonders. Sitri and Camio seem to be thinking about the same question. But their conversations fade. The answer doesn't matter. They'll be enemies again before too long.

In the awkward space of that silence, Camio walks off, wishing them a good night. Sitri also says he must go back.

Then it's just him and the butler.

Dantalion concedes. "Take good care of his soul, angel. Wherever it ends up."

Kevin closes his eyes and nods. There's something about his expression that Dantalion envies. It's so calm, so accepting of short human lives. So sure that everything will be alright in the end. He also leaves Dantalion wordlessly. Some silences are greater than promises, some ideas have no words attached to them.

And then it's just Dantalion and the clock.

Right before he leaves, Dantalion walks up to the clock and moves the minute hand fifteen minutes ahead. He needs those fifteen minutes in the future. He just needs a little more time.

To say goodbye.

* * *

So my coworker was talking about how bars set their clocks 15 minutes fast to accommodate last minute orders/kick everyone out on time, and then this fic was born. Nevermind laws about alcohol consumption being slightly different across time periods/countries.


End file.
